


Just a slip

by ShezzasCompanion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, John isnt that good with a gun after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShezzasCompanion/pseuds/ShezzasCompanion
Summary: What would have happened if John had accidently Shot Sherlock that first night instead of the cabbie





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock’s name had just ripped through his throat as he stared out the window into the the other building, though the other man did not hear him, the space was too great and the glass prevented John’s voice to be anything but echoed back at himself. Now the man’s ho attention he was so desperately tried to get stood there, holding the pill the pill to the light as if it was the correct way to determine if the one he had was going to be the death of him, but John couldn’t allow that to happen.He couldn’t allow the tall brunette who had saved him from a lonely existence die. 

The doctor opened the window, shifting the frame until it was tilted just so. He pulled his browning from the waistband of his jeans and took aim, his hand as steady as ever as he fired. however, the bullet didn’t hit it’s intended mark. Sherlock had shifted the moment he pulled the trigger, the hot metal flew through the window, cracking the glass before hitting the consulting detective in the back. Terror, guilt, and panic filled John as he stood there, his eyes focused on the hole now in the other man, it was on what would have been Sherlock’s right side and it no doubtingly had pierced his lung.

“SHERLOCK.” John yelled as the curly haired man collapsed. quickly, the doctor turned and sprinted from the room, he needed to get to Sherlock, he had to get to him. 

He had been told that he was going to die there, and at first, Sherlock had doubted that was true, that the cab driver was just being ambitious, he had even told the cabbie he doubted that was going to happen before they even set foot in the higher learning college. Thought now he wasn’t so sure. His chest and back here on fire, as he tried to breathe. His coat, shirt, and the floor beneath him was warm and tacky with his blood. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed forward, taking in the off white ceiling, most of his attention going to trying to get his chest to expand and to get his lungs to fill with air. He had no idea what had happened, there was never a sign that there had been an accomplice, let alone a gun man, and yet there he was with a hole ripped right through him, his life’s blood seeing into his clothes and staining the floor while assaulting his senses with the smell of copper. The white of the ceiling was blinding but that was all Sherlock could focus on before something blocked out the light. At first it was black, blurry around the edges until his eyes adjusted and realized that it was the cabbie. The man certainly looked pleased, a smile on his lips as he stooped slightly.

“The Great Sherlock Holmes, isn’t so great now is he?” He asked amusement colored his voice. But this wasn’t funny, it was painful, truly and utterly painful, he would trade this for the symptoms that came with him withdrawing from cocaine, he would trade this for the broken arm he had when he was seven because he fell out of the tree he had climbed to escape Mycroft. 

A groan escaped his lips as pressured was placed on his chest, a foot, making it even harder to breathe. The taste of cooper filling his mouth as he coughed trying to breathe. 

“J-John.” He managed, god where was John? Why had he left with out him? To be clever he guessed, more likely to get that rush that came with the solve and now there he was, bleeding onto some school floor, calling someone to save him. 

He was running, sprinting as fast as he could to get out of the building he was to get to Sherlock. John cursed to himself, he couldn’t believe that that had happened, he should have waited, he should have moved for a cleaner shot. 

His footsteps echoed in the empty halls as he navigated the other building, his chest was heaving, he was panting, but he didn’t want to think about how Sherlock felt. He had seen men with chest wounds before, out on the front lines, gasping for breathe, blood painting their lips as they tried to save them.  

The doctors footsteps slowed as he closed down to walk as he got on the correct floor. He could hear the cabbie taunting Sherlock from the small crack in the doors, drawing the browning once more, he slowly pushed open the door.

“Get away from him, or I will blow you away.”

The pressure on Sherlock’s chest lessened as the foot pressed down before being removed completely. The detective gasped as he tried to breathe again. His mind was trying to processes the fact someone else was there, that John was there.

The cab driver faded from his vision as he stepped away, hands up in a surrender position before foot steps met his ears as someone rushed forward. John’s face swam into view and relief flooded his body. John. The doctor’s hands were inviting against his cold face. The warmth made him realize how tired he felt and the sick feeling that came with it.

Copper coated his tongue and throat as he swallowed. 

“J-J-ohn,” the word came out more like a garble, a gurgle, he was drowning, it felt like he was, he couldn’t get enough air, he was getting cold, and tired and he was afraid. 

there was a clamber of something as John’s other hand came to cup his face.

“Sherlock, Sherlock I am going to get you some help okay? You’re going to be alright, I promise.” one of the hands vanished from his face, and John’s face shifted as he moved to dig something out of his pocket when they both heard the safety click off. 

The feeling of cold metal against John’s neck was enough to  make him raise his hands in surrender, cursing at himself for putting the gun down, but he had to look over Sherlock  and the wound he had caused and now they were both at the mercy of the cabbie. 

“Step away from him.”

“He needs medical attention.”

“I said step away from him.”  

“Please.”

The barrel dug into the back of his neck and John closed his eyes before moving stand his knees cold and tacky from the blood that had seeped into them. The cabbie now focused his attention on him, placing the distance between Sherlock and himself.

“Let me help him, please.” 

John looked at the cabbie, pleading written all over his face, he had to do something he had to save Sherlock, he had to get him medical attention before there was no hope.

“I’ll make you a deal, you play my game, you take the pill that your friend here was suppose to take, and if he chose the right one, you can help him, if not, well I am sure you know how it ends,” The cab driver 

John looked at the man weighting his options, taking a pill that there was only two of as a better chance than lunging for a gun that had several more rounds in it. besides there was a fifty fifty chance that it was the wrong pill but Sherlock couldn’t have been wrong, not after everything he had seen in the last few days.

The doctor nodded and the Cabbie moved, bending down to grasp the pill that lay in the palm of Sherlock’s hand, the one that he was examining hen John fired. 

The blonde held out his hand for the capsule watching as his browning was tucked into the belt o the other man’s trousers before he pulled out another pill from his pocket

“I hope your friend chose the right one.” He said with a smile as he raised it up in sort of a cheer, “Time to take our medicine it seems.” John’s heart as racing as he brought it to his mouth, his lips parting slightly as he kept his eyes on the cab driver who was doing the same. 

the coating of the capsule was tacky against his lips as he pushed it past, it sitting uncomfortable on his tongue before he swallowed and no they waited.

And then he knew something was wrong, something felt off and then it became obvious. Sherlock had chosen the wrong pill. John’s eyes widened as he felt his body begin to numb, His heart rate was increasing and his body felt hot as he looked at the cabbie. 

The man himself was smiling at the fact he had won, again. 

“You have to get him so help… please.” John stated his eyes falling into Sherlock whose eyes were drifting shut. he was pale and his breathe was coming out in gasps and gurgles that made it should like the detective was drowning in his own blood and he most likely was. 

“That wasn’t the deal, the deal was if he chose right, he got to live, now either of you have a chance.” 

John’s legs began to give out and he slowly dropped to the floor, his chest began to tighten as he tried to breathe. He moved forward, his hand grasping for Sherlock’s wrist, his fingers wrapping around his cool flesh.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, the world was blurry and he was tired and breathing was becoming such a chore and he couldn’t do it any more. “J-John.” His lips formed the word but no sound escaped. 

The doctor could feel Sherlock’s heart beat waning, and it was right under his fingers that he felt it give one more beat before nothing.  Sherlock’s ridged body went limp and the most horrible sound John had ever heard escaped Sherlock’s lips before silence. 

That was it, Sherlock was dead, and it was his fault, he had fired and he had hit him in the chest, but none of that mattered now, because he was going too. The numbing sensation wasn’t comping fast enough and the pain that was spreading from his stomach outwards wrapping around his chest making it harder and harder to breathe, his heart rate had increased and now it was starting to slow down.

John never removed his hand from Sherlock’s wrist not even as he closed his eyes and began to gasp for breathe, He didn’t know if the cabbie was still there or if he had left, he didn’t know how long it had taken for all of this to transpire, but he could hear the sound of sirens growing closer.

This time there was no ‘dear god let me live.’ like he had muttered under the hot sun of Afghanistan as he bled out onto the thirsty sand, this time it was “Sherlock  don’t leave me here by myself.” And the doctor knew the detective wouldn’t,  not as everything went silent.

 


	2. Alternative Ending

Sherlock’s name had just ripped through his throat as he stared out the window into the the other building, though the other man did not hear him, the space was too great and the glass prevented John’s voice to be anything but echoed back at himself. Now the man’s ho attention he was so desperately tried to get stood there, holding the pill the pill to the light as if it was the correct way to determine if the one he had was going to be the death of him, but John couldn’t allow that to happen.He couldn’t allow the tall brunette who had saved him from a lonely existence die. 

The doctor opened the window, shifting the frame until it was tilted just so. He pulled his browning from the waistband of his jeans and took aim, his hand as steady as ever as he fired. however, the bullet didn’t hit it’s intended mark. Sherlock had shifted the moment he pulled the trigger, the hot metal flew through the window, cracking the glass before hitting the consulting detective in the back. Terror, guilt, and panic filled John as he stood there, his eyes focused on the hole now in the other man, it was on what would have been Sherlock’s right side and it no doubtingly had pierced his lung.

“SHERLOCK.” John yelled as the curly haired man collapsed. quickly, the doctor turned and sprinted from the room, he needed to get to Sherlock, he had to get to him. 

He had been told that he was going to die there, and at first, Sherlock had doubted that was true, that the cab driver was just being ambitious, he had even told the cabbie he doubted that was going to happen before they even set foot in the higher learning college. Thought now he wasn’t so sure. His chest and back here on fire, as he tried to breathe. His coat, shirt, and the floor beneath him was warm and tacky with his blood. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed forward, taking in the off white ceiling, most of his attention going to trying to get his chest to expand and to get his lungs to fill with air. He had no idea what had happened, there was never a sign that there had been an accomplice, let alone a gun man, and yet there he was with a hole ripped right through him, his life’s blood seeing into his clothes and staining the floor while assaulting his senses with the smell of copper. 

 

The white of the ceiling was blinding but that was all Sherlock could focus on before something blocked out the light. At first it was black, blurry around the edges until his eyes adjusted and realized that it was the cabbie. The man certainly looked pleased, a smile on his lips as he stooped slightly.

“The Great Sherlock Holmes, isn’t so great now is he?” He asked amusement colored his voice. But this wasn’t funny, it was painful, truly and utterly painful, he would trade this for the symptoms that came with him withdrawing from cocaine, he would trade this for the broken arm he had when he was seven because he fell out of the tree he had climbed to escape Mycroft. 

A groan escaped his lips as pressured was placed on his chest, a foot, making it even harder to breathe. The taste of cooper filling his mouth as he coughed trying to breathe. 

“J-John.” He managed, god where was John? Why had he left with out him? To be clever he guessed, more likely to get that rush that came with the solve and now there he was, bleeding onto some school floor, calling someone to save him. 

He was running, sprinting as fast as he could to get out of the building he was to get to Sherlock. John cursed to himself, he couldn’t believe that that had happened, he should have waited, he should have moved for a cleaner shot. 

His footsteps echoed in the empty halls as he navigated the other building, his chest was heaving, he was panting, but he didn’t want to think about how Sherlock felt. He had seen men with chest wounds before, out on the front lines, gasping for breathe, blood painting their lips as they tried to save them. 

The doctors footsteps slowed as he closed down to walk as he got on the correct floor. He could hear the cabbie taunting Sherlock from the small crack in the doors, drawing the browning once more, he slowly pushed open the door.

“Get away from him, or I will blow you away.”

The pressure on Sherlock’s chest lessened as the foot pressed down before being removed completely. The detective gasped as he tried to breathe again. His mind was trying to processes the fact someone else was there, that John was there.

The cab driver faded from his vision as he stepped away, hands up in a surrender position before foot steps met his ears as someone rushed forward. John’s face swam into view and relief flooded his body. John. The doctor’s hands were inviting against his cold face. The warmth made him realize how tired he felt and the sick feeling that came with it.

Copper coated his tongue and throat as he swallowed. 

“J-J-ohn,” the word came out more like a garble, a gurgle, he was drowning, it felt like he was, he couldn’t get enough air, he was getting cold, and tired and he was afraid. 

there was a clamber of something as John’s other hand came to cup his face.

“Sherlock, Sherlock I am going to get you some help okay? You’re going to be alright, I promise.” one of the hands vanished from his face, and John’s face shifted as he moved to dig something out of his pocket when they both heard the safety click off. 

The feeling of cold metal against John’s neck was enough to make him raise his hands in surrender, cursing at himself for putting the gun down, but he had to look over Sherlock and the wound he had caused and now they were both at the mercy of the cabbie. 

“Step away from him.”

“He needs medical attention.”

“I said step away from him.” 

“Please.”

The barrel dug into the back of his neck and John closed his eyes before moving stand his knees cold and tacky from the blood that had seeped into them. The cabbie now focused his attention on him, placing the distance between Sherlock and himself.

“Let me help him, please.” 

John looked at the cabbie, pleading written all over his face, he had to do something he had to save Sherlock, he had to get him medical attention before there was no hope.

“I’ll make you a deal, you play my game, you take the pill that your friend here was suppose to take, and if he chose the right one, you can help him, if not, well I am sure you know how it ends,” The cab driver 

John looked at the man weighting his options, taking a pill that there was only two of as a better chance than lunging for a gun that had several more rounds in it. besides there was a fifty fifty chance that it was the wrong pill but Sherlock couldn’t have been wrong, not after everything he had seen in the last few days.

The doctor nodded and the Cabbie moved, bending down to grasp the pill that lay in the palm of Sherlock’s hand, the one that he was examining hen John fired. 

The blonde held out his hand for the capsule watching as his browning was tucked into the belt o the other man’s trousers before he pulled out another pill from his pocket

“I hope your friend chose the right one.” He said with a smile as he raised it up in sort of a cheer, “Time to take our medicine it seems.” John’s heart as racing as he brought it to his mouth, his lips parting slightly as he kept his eyes on the cab driver who was doing the same. 

the coating of the capsule was tacky against his lips as he pushed it past, it sitting uncomfortable on his tongue before he swallowed and no they waited.

John looked on as the smirk fell from the Cabbie’s face, his eyes growing wide as he stared ahead at the doctor. So Sherlock had been right, of course he had.. The blonde moved quickly, dashing back to Sherlock’s side as the gun clambered to the ground several feet away. He wasn’t worried about the man shooting him, he would be busy trying to comprehend the fact he had been wrong.

“Sherlock?” John asked as he knelled as closed as he could to his friend, placing. “Sherlock look at me.” 

The detective turned his head slightly, his eyes half lidded and glassy in appearance, his chest was heaving as he tried to breathe but the blood that was filling his lungs and chest was making it hard for him. The blood pool was growing, but he wasn’t panicking, not yet. 

“That’s good, that’s great Sherlock.” John stated as he flipped open Sherlock’s coat and pulled aside his suit jacket to discover that the bullet hadn’t made it all the way through Sherlock’s chest, most likely slowed down by the wool and the several inches of chest cavity it had to travel. And that was why Sherlock was bleeding out, gravity was working against him, helping him bleed out on the floor. John was falling into Doctor mode, failing to pay attention to the cab driver as the gun clanked to the floor as he fell.

He grabbed Sherlock by the arm, slowly pulling him so he could lay on his side. His back was drenched with blood, thick and black, and warm. John’s hands were coated as he moved to apply pressure to the wound, in the distance the sirens were growing closer, no more than a few minutes away.

“Stay with me Sherlock, please.” John whispered to him, “Please help is almost here.”

Sherlock was sick, nauseous,cold, and oh so tired, but every time he closed his eyes completely John would shake him awake. his chest ached, his back throbbed, breathing was difficult, and his clothes were soaked with his blood, but he kept listening to John.

“Stay with me Sherlock, come you, you can do it,.” The doctor coached him and he complied, if John said he cold then he could right? There as something just beyond the door, the sound of rushing foot steps and then the door burst open, he could feel John jump before the hand on his back pressed harder, causing him to groan. 

John was listening to the sirens get closer, before they stopped, he could hear the sound of officers outside before he sound of them rushing in. He counted the footsteps while counting Sherlock’s slowing heart beat, and even thought he expected it. he jumped as Greg burst through the door.

“Fre- Christ…”  
“Is there an ambulance down there?” John asked 

The DI pulled the radio John hadn’t seen him carrying before and called down to whoever was waiting by the squad car.

“I need a gurney, stat, officer down, apparent gunshot wound.” there was the sound of static before someone replied and Lestrade moved forward. 

“What the hell happened?” He asked as he came closer, stopping as he spotted the dead cab driver a few feet away and the gun laying near his hand. 

“I’ll tell you every later.” John said as he looked up at him. “I just want to Mkae sure Sherlock makes to the hospital.”

John moved aside as the paramedics entered to take over, watching as they took vitals, inserted IV’s and connected Sherlock to Oxygen so he could breathe somewhat easier than he was before. They packed the wound to try and stop the bleeding before they picked him up and laid him on the gurney.

John was a step behind them as they made their way towards the ambulance, eyes glancing from Sherlock’s pale face to the pair that was moving him as fast as they could towards help. All eyes were on them as they stepped out into the night, everyone stopping and staring to see who had been shot, and as much as no one liked the detective, no one seemed pleased with the fact he was injured.

The detective was loaded into the ambulance, and John stepped in to ride with him, moving out of the way so the paramedic could look after the brunettes stable yet worrisome vitals.

It was like riding in a tin can, the sirens echoing loudly in the vehicle, though he had tuned out the noises, focusing on the monitor that showed Sherlock’s heart was still beating, thought John knew that could change in a heart beat, sometimes quiet literally. He was hoping, praying, the man lived, he didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t.

“Nearly there, Just a few more minutes Mr. Holmes, hang on there.”


End file.
